


Accused

by awayinmyownlittleworld



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Crime, Drama, Eventual Johnlock, M/M, Post-Reichenbach, character death but not major
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awayinmyownlittleworld/pseuds/awayinmyownlittleworld
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is accused of a crime he didn't commit and the only person that can help him is dead. Or so he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Accused

"You look like you've got two black eyes. You need to get some sleep John" Sarah said loudly enough to wake John up from the half-sleep he was in.  
John rubbed his eyes and stretched.  
"It's not lack of sleep. I'm actually trying out a new purple eyeshadow."  
"Purple's not your colour."  
John smiled. The way he was feeling wasn't allowing him to let out a laugh.  
"Right, one more patient then you can go home."  
John smiled gratefully. He wondered when the special treatment was going to end. The only reason he'd got to keep his job here is because they felt sorry for him. He'd insisted he wanted to go back to work, mainly to distract himself, the week after Sherlock died. Despite everyone and their gran telling him he needed to take more time away, he went back to the surgery, where Sarah and the others spent their every free minute trying to get him to go home and rest. Two years on and nothing had changed, still treating him like he's made of glass. He usually refused the offers to leave early but he hadn't got any sleep last night. If he was being honest he hadn't gotten much sleep in the past two years. And right now he was just in one of those moods where he wanted to get as far away from work as possible. Go back to his pitiful one bedroomed apartment that he shared with Mary--his girlfriend-- and go to sleep. Although Sarah's instructions had been to go home and that wasn't his home, not really. The only place John had ever considered to be his home was only five minutes away by car and god how he wishes he could go back there. Despite the fact it still sat untouched (Mrs Hudson didn't quite have the heart to rent it out after what happened) it wasn't the same. He didn't know this from experience, he hadn't been back to the flat since Sherlock had died. He'd tried to go back, but he didn't make it past the cafe. So he settled on asking Mrs Hudson to send him all his clothes from his room and the skull. Which now sat on the shelf in his new living room, the only remnant of home his new apartment had. Even if he could go back to Baker Street, it could never be his home again. Home is with Sherlock and Sherlock is gone.  
He looked over the file Sarah handed him, the one patient he had left. Called in yesterday, asking for an emergency appointment. Specifically asking for John. Never actually specifying what was wrong with him. Said he didn't know, just got a searing pain in his head that never seems to leave him.   
"Hello Mr..."  
John hesitated not quite remembering the name on the file.  
"Moran. Sebastian Moran."  
The boy was young, no more than twenty-five. He wore dark jeans, a black coat and a grey beanie. Didn't look too healthy. In fact, he looked like he needed a good srub. But then again John looked like he had two black eyes, so who was he to judge? The boy sort of grunted and took a seat.   
"You're John Watson right?"  
John nodded slowly. They don't give out the first names of the doctors for confidentiality reasons.  
"You used to run about with Sherlock Holmes?"  
John laughed in disbelief. Used to run about with. Yes that's one way of putting it.   
"Look, I don't see what this has got to do with anything. Now could you please tell me which part of your head you're feeling the pain in?"  
The young man rolled his eyes. Clearly something had annoyed him.  
"I had a friend who died too."  
"Sir-"  
Johns attempt to protest was cut off.  
"It was suicide as well. Shot himself right through the head."  
John had given up in trying to shut the man up. But he was starting to get annoyed. He was a doctor not a counsellor.   
"I watched him do it. Wasn't quite close enough to stop him from pulling the trigger. But I seen it all happen. Didn't you watch Sherlock jump?"  
John was baffled as to why this young man knew so much about him.   
"I reckon me and you are alike."   
That's when John snapped.   
"No sir, I don't think we are. If all you came to my office for was a chat about our dead friends then I think you should bloody leave."  
And with that the man stood up from his chair, proceeded to kick it over and then trash his filing cabinet. Then he stormed out. John sat with his head in his hands. He shouldn't of snapped. He knows what it's like to lose someone you loved. To watch them die and not be able to stop it. So when Sarah came into his office to ask what had just happened, he brushed it off as nothing. He didn't want to report the man. Truth be told, he felt sorry for him.

A couple of days had passed since the incident at the surgery and thankfully nothing had came of it. John took Sarah up on her offer to leave early again. He was tired as per usual and didn't have the energy to argue with her. He decided he'd walk home, thought the fresh air might do him good. He never realised how long the walk was from here to the apartment before. It took him about two and a half hours to get back. Not having the energy to look for his keys in his briefcase he knocked on the door, knowing Mary would be in by now. He waited a few minutes and still no answer. So he fished his keys out the bottom of the briefcase and unlocked the door.  
"Mary, you in?"  
Silence.   
Assuming she'd just gone out to get milk or something John closed the door behind him and headed into the living room.  
The briefcase landed with a thud on the floor upon the sight of seeing Mary.  
Dead. On the floor. Throat slit. Blood everywhere.

**Author's Note:**

> I know there was no Sherlock in this chapter but this was just to set up the plot. I promise he'll be back. Any comments or suggestions welcome.


End file.
